There Will Be Ten
by paulina
Summary: Yeah, I know it's been done before. A girl Hobbit enters the Fellowship. PLEASE R+R! UPDATE: Chapters Four and Five Up. PLEASE r+r.
1. Part One

Paulina Bolinski  
  
January 16, 2002  
  
1 There Will Be Ten  
  
  
  
Author's Note: First LOTR fic. Reviews are welcome! This is for movie- verse, and centers around my own character, Orelle.  
  
Genre and rating: R! Yeah! I wrote an R fic! I'm so proud. *sniffle* Genre would be Drama, Romance, Action/Adventure, and angst. And no, this is not a slash fic. Oh, and I suppose this would be an AU, though I'm not quite sure even what that stands for. *grin*  
  
Disclaimer: I only own Orelle Brandybuck. Everything else belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. Anyway, on to the good stuff: The story!  
  
1.1  
  
1.2  
  
1.3 Chapter One: The Runaway  
  
Dear Mother and Father,  
  
I am running away. I will probably never see you again. Please understand I love you, but I cannot stand to live with your abuse for another day.  
  
Your daughter,  
  
Orelle Brandybuck  
  
Pinning the note to her pillow, Orelle padded out silently out of her bedroom, carrying with her a bedroll, a change of clothes, and some food supplies along with a dagger that was tucked in the waistband of her breeches.  
  
She crept silently to the door of the Hobbit-hole that she resided in with her parents and brother, opened it, and went out into the night, never to see her beloved Hobbiton again.  
  
She was an odd creature; an eighth-Elf, she didn't have all of the characteristics a Hobbit normally did. For example, she did not have Hobbit feet. Her feet were small and slim, with no trace of hair. Nor was the hair on her head curly; although it was dark—of a warm brown—it was only slightly wavy, instead of the bouncy curls that all Hobbits had.  
  
Her parents abused her. She had finally had enough of it and was running away, running to her old friend and cousin, Meriadoc Brandybuck, also known as Merry. She knew that he would give her lodging.  
  
What she did not know, however, was that her life would change by more than what she expected—in fact, that she would help the cause of entire Middle- Earth, free to preserve it—or to destroy it.  
  
1.4 Chapter Two: The Black Rider and Meetings  
  
"Get off the road!" A panic-stricken Frodo Baggins screamed to his friends when he felt an eerie premonition.  
  
The four Hobbits—Meriadoc Brandybuck, Peregrin Took, his cousin, Samwise Gamgee, and Frodo—leaped into a hollow under a tree, just the right size for hobbits.  
  
What they found there, however, was quite unexpected: another hobbit—and a female one at that—was cowering in their hiding place.  
  
What was even more unexpected was that they all knew her.  
  
"Orelle!" Frodo said, very quietly. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"I think explanations are best left for later, although I could ask the same of you, Frodo son of Drogo," she answered. "What are you four doing here and what—" She stopped abruptly when she heard hoofs come up the path.  
  
Frodo looked up from the hollow and saw a rider, clothed all in black, seated on a massive black horse with what looked like blood dripping from it's hooves.  
  
Orelle saw a strange look come on Frodo's face and saw his hand reach into his pocket, pulling out a ring—it drew ever closer to his finger, but then Sam saw and knocked it away. Frodo opened his eyes with a jerk and stuffed the ring into his pocket again.  
  
Pippin grabbed a branch and threw it away from them; it landed with a crash that sent the Rider galloping towards it.  
  
"Let's go!" The five scrambled out of their hiding spot and ran. "What was that thing?" Orelle gasped.  
  
"It was looking for someone—or something," Merry said, looking sideways at Frodo.  
  
"You have some explaining to do, my friend," she said, clapping Frodo on the shoulder.  
  
"As do you, Orelle."  
  
As night drew on, they continued on their journey; to where, Orelle did not know, but she caught snatches of quick, quiet conversations and gathered they were head for the Inn of the Prancing Pony, in Bree.  
  
The black of night was frightening, especially with the dread of the Black Riders. Orelle figured that they were looking for Frodo, and his ring; she planned to get more information when they stopped.  
  
Suddenly the rider loomed up before them, a huge, menacing figure. Orelle screamed; she was frozen in place with terror and shock. Merry grabbed her arm and pulled her along with the others.  
  
They ran to the Ferry; to get to Bree they had to cross the Brandywine River. Orelle ran directly behind Merry, who was in front; after her came Pippin, then Sam, then Frodo.  
  
He was falling behind; the Rider was nearly upon him. Merry came to the Ferry and leaped upon it, freeing it from its mooring. Orelle following with a light jump of her own; Sam and Pippin landed more heavily.  
  
Frodo ran the turn with the Rider nearly on his heels. "Hurry, Frodo!" they all screamed. Finally he made it to the Ferry and jumped on it; it was already in the water, and it caused a slight splash to wet Orelle's face as she stared at the Black Rider.  
  
The Ferry floated slowly to the other side of the Brandywine while the five hobbits still stared at the black rider on the black horse. As they watched, the horse reared and the rider let out a terrifying screech that echoed throughout the dark night.  
  
1.5 Chapter Three: The Prancing Pony  
  
"All right Frodo. What is going on here? What was that—that thing? And what was that ring?" Orelle slid into a seat in the Inn of the Prancing Pony with Frodo across from her. "And why did you call yourself Mr. 'Underhill' and not Ba—"  
  
"Don't say it!" She was cut off by Frodo's frantic plea and the panic in his eyes. "Don't say my name, Orelle. Please." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "That Rider is after me—me and the Ring."  
  
He pulled it out of his pocket. "You have heard the legend of the Rings of Power, have you not?" At her nod, he continued. "And have you heard that Sauron forged the One Ring, the ring that would control all others?"  
  
"Yes, I have. And with your luck, my friend, I suppose that this is the One Ring."  
  
"Yes. This is the One Ring." He put it back in his pocket. "I am taking it to Rivendell—I was supposed to meet Gandalf here, but he didn't come. I suppose we must go ahead on our own."  
  
She leaned across the table and put her hand over his. "I would go with you to the ends of the earth," she said softly.  
  
He met her gaze, and found truth there. "I am afraid that that is where we will have to go."  
  
"Then that is where I will go."  
  
Merry sat down next to Orelle, a foaming mug in front of him.  
  
"Ooh… what's that?" Pippin asked, turning to them.  
  
"This, my friend, is a pint."  
  
"Oh… I want one too!" Pippin ran off to the bar. Orelle laughed, but Frodo was looking into a dark corner of the Inn, where a man sat, clothed all in black, and watched them. He was smoking a pipe, and it looked to Orelle as if his eyes were aflame.  
  
Frodo caught the innkeeper's sleeve and asked, "who is that man over there—in the corner?"  
  
The man looked, and said, "He's one of them Ranger folk—dangerous, they are. He has a real name somewhere, but here he's known as Strider."  
  
Orelle shivered at the ominous note in his voice, but then stiffened as she heard a cheerful Hobbit-voice come from the bar: "Sure, I know a Baggins. Frodo! Frodo—"  
  
Frodo's eyes widened and he got up, trying to run to Pippin to quiet him. But so many people got in his way, and he tripped, and fell— Orelle stood with a soft cry when she saw the Ring fly from his pocket, into the air—and onto Frodo's finger.  
  
To the amazement of all that were watching, Frodo disappeared.  
  
Orelle never found out exactly what he saw then, but a few seconds later he reappeared and jammed the Ring back into his pocket.  
  
Suddenly she saw the man called Strider go to Frodo and pick him up by the collar, pushing him up the stairs.  
  
"Sam! Merry! Pippin!" she yelled, drawing her daggers and rushing up the stairs to follow Frodo and Strider. Sam, Merry, and Pippin were right behind her and they burst into the room three minutes after Frodo.  
  
Sam shouted a challenge to the Ranger, but he only laughed and told Frodo he had stout friends, albeit foolish.  
  
"You'd best stay in here for the night; there are people after you—but I'm sure you know that already."  
  
Orelle looked at him warily, not sure whether to trust this stranger. Frodo, however, nodded and agreed to spend the night in Strider's room.  
  
Later in the night, Sam, Merry, and Pippin were fast asleep. Strider stood at the window, watching the room the Hobbits were supposed to be in.  
  
Frodo and Orelle sat together in the window-seat, with Strider looming over them, and talked in hushed voices.  
  
"You never told me what you were doing out, cousin," Frodo said, giving Orelle and interrogative look. "What were you doing out in the middle of the forest, alone? And why haven't I seen you in more than a year?"  
  
Unbidden, the images came rushing back to Orelle: Her mother screaming insults at her, each of which was punctuated by a punch or slap from her father. She flinched as a particularly painful memory crossed her mind—  
  
"Why didn't you do your chores, Orelle?" Her mother stood in front of her, next to her father.  
  
"I didn't fell like it, Mother; I'm tired from all the work I had to do this morning." 'Are you trying to get yourself killed?' her mind screamed at her. 'If you are, you're certainly going to meet your goal, and soon!'  
  
Her mind turned out to be right as a strong punch sent her reeling. "Bitch! Stupid little rat of a girl!" Each yell was accompanied by a kick. The noise of everything crashed down into her senses—the sickening sound of her father's foot hitting her side, his grunts, her mother's cruel words, her own screams—they smashed down into her, causing her to cover her ears with her hands and a few tears to leak out of her eyes.  
  
"Orelle? Orelle, are you all right? Did I say anything?" Frodo's concerned face appeared into her field of vision. She wiped the tears away and sat up straight again, looking him in the eye.  
  
"No, you didn't. It was just—a memory that's all. Nothing you did; don't worry." She shook her head, clearing her mind of the pain. Then she looked back at her friend's face and said quietly, "I ran away. I ran away and I'm not going back."  
  
He looked back at her compassionately. "I would not ask you to. But I will ask you to go with us on our quest—you know what it is already. And I remember you were always like me—ready for adventure. So I ask this of you, Orelle Brandybuck, will you go with us to take the Ring to Rivendell?"  
  
A smile lit her face. "I will."  
  
A sharp hiss from Strider interrupted what might have happened next. Frodo and Orelle looked into the room across from them and saw five Black Riders standing over the five beds that they would have slept in. They simultaneously raised their swords and stabbed down several times; then ripped back the covers, discovering feathers that had been shaped into Hobbit-forms.  
  
They all let out another un-earthly shriek, waking the three sleeping Hobbits, and making the two that were awake shudder.  
  
"What are they?" Frodo asked.  
  
"They are Ringwraiths. They were once mortal Men; the bearers of the Nine; but then Sauron corrupted them. This is what they have become. They will never stop hunting you, Frodo. They hear the Ring calling them. They want to find it, to give it to their master. The Ring also wants to be found. Never put it on, Frodo Baggins. Remember, it wants to be found." 


	2. Part Two

Disclaimer: Not mine. So don't sue me.  
  
Author's Note: Okay, so this is the next part—chapters four and five. PLEASE review. I never get any reviews and it's honestly getting me mad. I mean, it's like an insult to me as a writer. Goodness. So please review. Hell, even flames are welcome. Always a source of improvement… anyway, enjoy!  
  
  
  
Chapter Four: Weathertop  
  
The six travelers slowly made their way to Rivendell. One night, when they were about six days away from their destination, Strider decided to stop and rest at Weathertop, old ruins atop a hill.  
  
"That way we'll see if there will be any more Ringwraiths after us," he said. Frodo nodded.  
  
"Yes. That's good."  
  
They made camp in a hollow about halfway up the hill; as night drew on Strider went out to scout. Frodo and Orelle fell asleep, not caring what the other Hobbits would be up to.  
  
Orelle awoke to a very frightened Frodo stamping out a fire. She knew that something was wrong, very wrong, but knew not what it was.  
  
She walked to the edge of the cliff-hollow, thinking she heard noises, kneeling down and looking out over the land. What she saw made her blood freeze in her veins.  
  
Six Black Riders were below them.  
  
"F-Frodo," she squeaked. He came over, then looked down to where her eyes were locked. He stared for a moment, in shock, then shook himself and turned to where the others stood arguing over the last of the stew.  
  
"Up! To the top!" he cried. All five of them ran to do so, drawing their swords as they ran.  
  
Once they were at the top of the hill, they formed a close-knit circle, ready to face what was coming. Orelle swallowed her terror, knowing by the looks on the other hobbits' faces that she would have to be the strong one.  
  
Again.  
  
For as long as she could remember, before her parents turned cruel, she had always been the strong one out of her friends. She nearly never cried; trying never to show emotion. She was honestly getting sick of it—she wished she could, just once, break down and weep—but no. That life was not for her. Never for her—  
  
She was torn out of her musings by the approach of the Nazgûl. They moved with agonizing slowness towards the Hobbits; their long, deadly swords were drawn and ready.  
  
She subconsciously moved a little closer to Frodo, then realized he was moving away.  
  
Before she could do anything, the Ringwraiths attacked. Two made straight for Frodo while the others attacked Orelle, Sam, Merry, and Pippin.  
  
Orelle ducked the Rider's first sword-stab, forced to defend herself constantly, unable to attack. She heard a dull thud and knew that Frodo had fallen. She turned to look around at him, saw that he had disappeared—she knew that he had put on the Ring, and yelled out in fear.  
  
Strider suddenly appeared, waving a flaming brand and attacking the Nazgûl. Orelle was free to run to where she had seen Frodo last, and did so quickly.  
  
She saw Frodo reappear a few feet away from her, crying out in pain and clutching his shoulder.  
  
"Frodo!" she screamed and ran to him, bending over his prone figure. His face was white and he held the ring with one hand; the other hand was still holding his shoulder.  
  
The sight of his pain-filled face made her heart ache, and all her long- dead feelings for her old friend flared suddenly back to life.  
  
"Oh, Frodo," she whispered, drawing back his shirt and jacket and seeing a long gash that was obviously the source of his pain.  
  
The three other Hobbits ran to them. "Strider!" Sam yelled; the Ranger had finished dealing with the Nazgûl and ran over. "Mr. Frodo's hurt—"  
  
Strider picked up a sword that Orelle had not noticed before. It dissipated when he picked it up, and he sighed. "It's a Morgul—a Dark Sword. The wound is beyond my powers to heal."  
  
Tears of fury and indignation stung Orelle's eyes. "So you can't help him?" she cried. "You must! You must!"  
  
"I am sorry, Orelle. There is not much I can do, except…" He turned to Sam, who looked just as worried as Orelle felt. "Do you know the athelas plant? Some call it kingsford," he added, seeing the confused look on the Hobbit's face.  
  
Sam's face lit, and he nodded. "Yes, I do. It should be around somewhere near…" They went off to look for it.  
  
They didn't return through the rest of the night, which Orelle spent washing Frodo's wound and wishing fervently for a miracle that could save him.  
  
As morning drew near, Merry and Pippin were both asleep (and snoring), Frodo slid into more of a stupor, moving only to cry out weakly in pain. Orelle didn't leave his side, and her green eyes were bloodshot.  
  
Frodo's face was white, though his veins were clearly visible. His eyes were redder than Orelle's; they made a sharp contrast to his bright blue irises. He gasped for breath, and Orelle was terrified that he should die before they reached Rivendell and the healing powers of Lord Elrond.  
  
When it was still dark, although dawn was beginning to show in the eastern sky, Strider and Sam returned, accompanied by a beautiful Elven woman who seemed to glow with a soft light.  
  
Knowing her immediately, Orelle knelt down before her. "Arwen Evenstar," she whispered.  
  
"Stand, Orelle Brandybuck. I can see you have not had sleep… where is the patient?" Arwen saw Frodo behind Orelle and knelt near him, chanting softly in Elvish.  
  
Some of the color returned to the Hobbit's face but he was still pale and he looked very, very sick.  
  
"I must take him to my father. I will ride quickly—he will not hold on much longer." The Elf's words filled Orelle with fear. Before she knew it, Arwen had Frodo in her arms and was carrying him to a beautiful white horse.  
  
Knowing what she had to do, Orelle shook herself out of her paralysis and ran to the Elf, tugging on her elegant sleeve.  
  
"I'm coming with you."  
  
Chapter Five: Race to the River  
  
The sun rose high in the sky as they rode to Rivendell. Orelle sat behind Arwen, clutching the Elf with one hand and Frodo with the other.  
  
She heard an odd noise in the trees around them, turned her head, and saw the nine Nazgûl behind them. "Arwen!" she screamed in fear.  
  
Arwen looked behind her and saw the Riders in hot pursuit of them, and rode faster. Orelle felt Frodo slipping and squeezed his cold hand, not letting go; she thought that if she held him tight enough he would stay alive.  
  
The Ringwraiths drew closer to them. They chased the three through a forest that was filled with thorns and brambles; one cut a slash across Arwen's face, another whipped Orelle's arm.  
  
Soon the reached the ford of the river. Arwen rode her horse across it, standing on the edge of the opposite bank. She stopped the horse, which reared, and cried, "If you want him, come and claim him!" She drew her sword and held it up high.  
  
The leader of the Nazgûl roared and the Nine charged into the river. Orelle heard Arwen say something softly in Elvish and the trickle of water on the bank swelled to a flow. Orelle heard a low rumbling and, to her amazement, a wall of water flew down the river, burying and drowning the oncoming Ringwraiths. Orelle fancied she saw white water-horses in the water that overtook the Nazgûl.  
  
When the river had gone back to its original, slower flow, Arwen led the white horse farther up the bank and put Frodo down. He was gasping for breath and it seemed that he was inches from passing into shadow.  
  
Orelle's eyes widened and she sank down next to him, touching his face gently and whispering his name. But then it seemed that the long night and day had caught up with her, and she fell next to Frodo and knew no more. 


End file.
